


Cry for a Shadow

by Peanut_McNut



Series: 12 Step Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanut_McNut/pseuds/Peanut_McNut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, the road to humanity is paved with the bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cry for a Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the events of “The End.” This is technically a prequel to my other fic, “You’re My 12 Step Program” but I think this one can stand on it’s own.

Cass really doesn’t need the buzz. Having long since gotten the art of maintenance down to a science, he’s been riding his current high for at least two days straight. However, if he’s going to have to sit through this clusterfuck of a team meeting, he’ll probably need a little extra pick-me up. Or drag me down. Whichever. Cass plops down onto one of the rickety wooden chairs, propping his feet up on the scratched up table as he pours himself a cup of, what he sincerely hopes is something extremely strong.

“So, that’s it? That’s the Colt?” Risa asks.

Dean nods, “If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it.”

“Great! Have we got anything that can  _find_  Lucifer?”

Dean looks up, uncharacteristically taking the time to notice her tone, “Are you okay?”

“Oh, we were in Jane’s cabin last night,” Past Dean says, eyeing his future self, “Apparently, we and Risa have a connection.”

Cass can’t help but smile. It’s been years since anyone has questioned Dean. It’s a nice change of pace.

Dean glares at his former self, “You wanna shut up?”

Past Dean raises his hands in surrender, as Cass grins into his cup.

“We don’t have to find Lucifer. We know where he is. A demon that we caught last week, he was one of the…big guy’s entourage. He knew.”

Risa stares at him in shock, “So, a demon tells you where Satan’s going to be and you just believe it?”

“Oh trust me,” Dean grins slightly, “he wasn’t lying.”

“And, you know this how?”

Cass interrupts, “Our fearless leader, I’m afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth.”

His eyes fall to the cup cradled in his long fingers, momentarily unable to look anyone in the eye. There hasn’t been many instances in Cass’ ill-conceived quest to synthetically revert back to his old, emotionless self that he has been taken unawares by long buried and alcohol doused feelings and memories. Good as he is at keeping his system constantly subdued in a haze of drugs, sex, and a good dose of violence, every once in a while something gets through.

He remembers the first time he met Dean. Covered in blood and flecks of flesh, the screams and gut-wrenching wails of part-human, part-demon souls near Dean’s rack providing a savage soundtrack as the Righteous Man ripped into one of them. Cass still remembers the slight smile on his charge’s face as he tore into his current victim.

Yes, Dean had found pleasure in the act, but there had been a sorrow and wretchedness he attributed to his actions that had always ran soul deep. That should have been long lost after so many years in Hell. Dean was destined to be the Righteous Man, but Castiel had never imagined that any soul could survive such rigorous tests. It had shone through all Dean’s trials and tribulations, warming the constant cold Castiel had never been aware of existing in him until Dean. That brightness had weakened the night Castiel had asked Dean to take up the blade again, this time against his personal torturer in Hell, Alastair. Over time, it had been battered, but still had it remained.

Now, that blindingly bright and shiny bit of humanity that had drawn Castiel in so deeply was completely absent in the twisted and damaged wreck that made up his Dean Winchester.

“Torture?” Past Dean’s eyes dart from Cass to Dean, “Oh, so we’re torturing again. Well, that-that’s good… Classy.”

Cass chuckles, smiling fondly at the mirror image of his Dean. The Dean he had voluntarily fallen so hard for. It does not go unnoticed by his Dean. Cass turns to see the steely glint in his Dean’s weathered green eyes. He’s not sure what has earned this level of ire, but Cass finds he really doesn’t care. The mere presence of Past Dean stirs the old assertiveness that used to come so easily to him.

“What? I like past you.”

The barb hits it’s mark. Cass thinks maybe he might see something change. A flicker of surprise or regret. Something… But, maybe not. A split-second later, he receives nothing more than a scathing glare from Dean as he drops his gaze to the map spread out on the table.

“Lucifer is here. Now, I know the block and I know the building.”

Cass feels dismissed. It’s not a new feeling. Hell, he’s felt much worse in recent years. But tonight, it snaps something deep inside him.

“Oh good! It’s right in the middle of a hot zone.”

Dean looks up again, staring him down. For the first time in years, Cass stares right back. This he knows. This he remembers.

“Crawlin’ with croats, yeah. Are you saying my plan is reckless?”

“Are you saying we walk in, straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the croats and we shoot the Devil?”

“Yes,”

“Okay,” Cass scoffs, “If you don’t like reckless, I could use insouciant maybe.”

“Are you coming?”

The look on Dean’s face speaks of a level of weariness that should not be humanly possible. Cass, of all people, knows what weight weighs on Dean. It would have broken any lesser man. As it is, it has only managed to slowly fracture Dean. It just keeps chipping away at him, until one day the whole foundation will crack and fall in on itself.

Yes, one day Dean Winchester will fade completely away, but Cass refuses to let him disappear alone.

“Of course,” Cass pauses, then adds thoughtfully, “But, why is he? I mean he’s you five years ago, if something happens to him you’re gone, right?”

“He’s coming.”

“Okay. We’ll uh…we’ll get the grunts moving.”

And, just like that, they’re back in familiar territory. Dean doesn’t even spare him a second glance, “We’re loaded and on the road by midnight.”

Cass strolls out the door, refusing to look back, “All righty!”

**********

The next hour passes in a flurry of orders, people, packing, and all the general chaos that always ensues prior to the start of a new mission. Cass performs his duties mindlessly. This was what he was trained for. Long before Dean Winchester ever came into being, Castiel had been a soldier. A strategist. A leader. It’s a role he slips into easily, without the bother of actually having to give a damn.

With the camp in a desirable amount of uproar, Cass leaves them to it. There’s still a few more hours before their departure and quite frankly, his carefully cultivated mellow mood is in danger of falling into a quick and painful decline. He makes his way back to his cabin, the noises of the camp diminishing to a distant roar in the cool night air. He just reaches the stairs to his only remaining sanctuary, when a voice calls out to him.

“Cass! Hey!” Past Dean yells, running up to him.

Somewhere in the back of Cass’ mind he hears a tiny voice telling him that turning around will be a bad idea. He puts a foot up on the first step.

“Cass, hold on damn it!”

Sighing, Cass releases his grip on the handrail and turns. Dean comes to a stop in front of him. Rearranging his features into his patented shit-eating grin, Cass stares him down.

“Yes, Dean. How can I help you?”

Dean’s brow furrows, “Help me? I wanted to know what the hell you think about all this.”

“What?” Cass’ facade falters slightly.

“Your opinion, Cass,” Dean begins to pace as Cass stares at him, dumbfounded, “I don’t understand what he – I’m up to. You and I both know walkin’ up and banging on the front door isn’t a good idea. There has to be something else- What?”

Cass shakes himself, realizing that Dean has finally noticed the awed look that is surely on his face, “I don’t know. I’m sure Dean knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, well… I’m not.”

“Still doubting yourself, Dean?”

The past version of his charge snorts, giving him a lopsided grin, “Only when I give myself reason to.”

Dean walks towards him, brushing against his shoulder as he sits down on one of the stairs. It sends a shiver up Cass’ spine.

“I can’t believe you don’t question him more.”

Cass sits down beside him, picking absently at a hole in the left knee of his jeans, “It’s not my place.”

“…the Hell? So what, you ditched the the assholes in the winged dicks brigade for another douche that pushes you around?”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Cass bristles, glaring sidelong at Dean, “You just don’t understand.”

“Your right. I don’t,” Dean leans in close. Much too close, “Enlighten me.”

Cass turns to look at him. He can feel Dean’s breath on his lips. The familiar smell of gun oil, sweat, and the faint hint of the Impala’s interior. It’s a specific scent that he’s not been able to take in for a very long time. He finds himself leaning into Dean, eyes glued to those full lips. A sheen of sweat glistens above his upper lip.

That little, highly annoying voice is back, yelling at Cass to pull away. This Dean knows nothing. This was the Dean who pushed Cass away, teaching lesson after lesson about “personal space.” And yet, this Dean is not backing away. They inch closer, foreheads almost touching…

“Dean! There you are,” Chuck calls, hurrying up to them, “Dean, you… Uh, other you wants you to help me round up some supplies. Said something about pulling your own weight.”

Turning away from Cass, Dean looks up at Chuck, “Uh huh, I’m sure he didn’t put it so nicely.”

Chuck grimaces, “I might be paraphrasing.”

“Fine,” Dean stands, stretching as he goes. He turns back to Cass and gives him a small smile, “Guess I’ll see you later, Cass.”

“Yeah,” Cass manages.

With that, Dean follows Chuck, who begins babbling about Father only knows what. Cass is almost certain it’s in regards to the former prophet’s complex formula for the distribution of cans of Spam. Left alone in the silence once more, Cass drops his head into his hands, rubbing his palms into his eyes.

It’s so much harder being around Past Dean. Cass is still drawn to him like a moth to the flame. He’s bound to get burnt. Again. Cass reaches a shaky hand into his pocket and draws out a few pills he can’t be bothered to identify before he tosses them back.

“ _You just don’t understand.”_

They were his words to Dean and yet, they could so easily apply to him. Dean had asked for illumination. For Cass to draw back the shades and show him what path lay before him. He’d asked for the impossible. Dean had always been the radiance to Castiel’s void. How could nothingness ever hope to reignite the light?

**********

_This is not how Castiel had imagined it would be._

_Castiel sighs, his thoughts turning to the events of the last week or so. Sam was gone. He had suffered through unknown days of torture so severe it would be inconceivable to the human mind. It was, however, completely within the realm of Castiel’s imagination, who had been shocked that Sam Winchester had taken so long to finally say, “yes.”_

_In the end, it had been Dean’s stubborn insistence that the two brothers remain separated that caused their ultimate downfall. It had taken at least three days to realize Sam was even in trouble. Castiel had long since lost his power to fly where he pleased, forcing them to waste another day and a half traveling from the opposite side of the country to Detroit. It had required two days of vigorous interrogation of demon after demon before they had located the correct derelict warehouse._

_But, they had been too late._

_Castiel screws up his face in discomfort, shifting positions slightly as his mind wanders again. He and Dean had arrived just in time to see Lucifer take Sam over, making himself at home in his new “meat suit.” Castiel had thought he would kill them right then and perhaps that would have been better. Instead, Lucifer had taunted Dean, telling him every sordid detail about his brother’s torment. The elder Winchester had rushed to attack, but Castiel had stopped him, preventing what surely would have been a quick, but excruciatingly painful death._

_With that, Lucifer had disappeared, his escort of demons in tow. Dean had been a man possessed, throwing every object that was not bolted down, aiming towards anything that could possibly be broken further. Crates smashed, glass shattered, metal bent, and still Dean’s howling, insatiable grief would not abate. It was when Dean turned on himself, tearing at his clothes and skin, drawing blood, that Castiel intervened._

_He’d fought with Dean, holding him against him. Dean had lashed out at Castiel, cursing and pummeling him with bloody fists. No longer even partly angel, it had been an exhausting and nearly impossible task, but finally Dean relented, going slack in Castiel’s arms, eerily silent. Castiel had found himself almost preferring Dean’s punches and kicks. He had dragged the hunter from the warehouse, positioning him into the passenger side seat of Dean’s beloved car._

_Castiel’s right hand slides across rough, unwashed fabric as he remembers getting behind the wheel of the Impala. He had expected a tantrum. After all, the ex-angel had never actually driven a vehicle before. But, Dean never made a sound. He sat quietly, eyes unfocused as they stared out the window. It had taken a few minutes, but Castiel eventually figured it out. They proceeded down the road in silence. Castiel managed to get them out of the city, checked into a semi-isolated motel, and setup in what turned out to be a very dank and moldy room, subpar by even the Winchesters’ standards._

_Knowing it would be pertinent to gather as much information as possible, Castiel had spent the next couple days watching whatever coverage could be found on the television. He shifted through every newspaper or magazine he could find. What he discovered had not been to his liking. There were hurricanes, earthquakes, and the start of what Castiel knew to be the Croatoan virus. It was all there. The owner of the motel had bolted five days after Sam had acquiesced to Lucifer, leaving them alone in this desolate place._

_Castiel had gathered what supplies they would need to wait out the spread of the virus. After sufficiently hiding the Impala, he barricaded them into their room. He had been the one to keep look out, watching for any and all possible threats as the world literally went to Hell around them, all the while fighting an unrelenting onslaught of emotions Castiel had never experienced before. Anger, fear, sadness, depression. All these new feelings swirled around uncontrolled in Castiel. It was terrifying._

_Dean, for his part, had parked himself on one of the two beds right after their arrival and had hardly moved from his spot. That had been six days ago. Six days, Castiel had tip-toed around Dean. Six days, he had forced him to eat, drink, and take care of himself. For six days, Castiel had done all of this on his own._

_And today, on the seventh day, Castiel had beat the ever-loving hell out of Dean._

_It had started innocuously enough. Castiel had made dinner and offered some of it to Dean. The hunter had looked at the plate for a moment, then glared up at the fallen angel, “Fuck you, Cass.”_

_It hadn’t been the first time Dean had cursed him these past few days. Dean had no other outlet to vent his sorrow and anger. Castiel, being the nearest and only available whipping post, had been his target. But, today was different. Today, Castiel had had enough._

“ _No, Dean. Fuck you!” he had shouted, tossing the plate aside. It slammed against the far wall, splattering food as one of Castiel’s fists connected with Dean’s jaw._

_First shock, then rage had flared in those beautiful green eyes, the first reaction Castiel had gotten out of Dean in what seemed like forever. Dean had lunged for him, knocking Castiel to the ground. They scuffled, each getting their respective shots in. By the time they had decided to release each other, Castiel was fairly certain he might have dislocated a finger or two. Dean’s bottom lip had been busted and was oozing blood. The other man held his ribs, Castiel having got a particularly well-placed jab in. They had stood, facing off against one another, panting as they tried to regain their breath._

“ _You are not this much of a selfish bastard, Dean Winchester. I know you.”_

_Dean shook his head, “You don’t know me.”_

“ _You care about what happens to this world.”_

“ _Like hell I do,” Dean growled through clenched teeth._

_Castiel stood up straighter, wincing as something pulled in his back, “People are out there hurting. Dying. You could be helping them.”_

“ _I don’t give a damn.”_

“ _That’s not-” Castiel had started, but Dean interrupted him._

“ _You don’t get it. I_ can’t _give a damn about them!” Dean had moved closer to Castiel, “I can’t feel anything anymore, Cass. I don’t feel connected to any of this. I just…”_

_Dean had trailed off, unable to say whatever it was he supposedly wasn’t feeling. It was ironic to Castiel. For the first time, he was on Dean’s level. He was human. He felt, he bled, and he was slowly beginning to understand just how hard it was to be mortal. To be vulnerable. But now, Dean was the one off in another dimension. Untouchable and immovable. Everything Castiel used to be._

_And, it hurt._

_Of all the things Castiel had endured since rebelling against Heaven, seeing the light go out in Dean Winchester’s eyes was by far his greatest torment. He could feel the man that he cared for, that he…loved, slipping away from him and Castiel would do anything to hold on to him._

_That desire to save Dean is what had lead them to where they were now. Dean grunting somewhere up above Castiel as he plows him deeper and deeper into the ancient, creaky bed. Castiel’s hands twisting in the sweat-drenched sheets as he takes the pain, flesh tearing and muscles bending unwillingly against the harsh intrusion. This is Castiel’s first time. There is nothing loving or pleasurable about it. It just is. He hears Dean give one last gasp, a shudder running though him. A moment later, he’s gone. Dean disappears into the bathroom, not to be seen again for some hours._

_Castiel remains rigid on his stomach, face buried in a pillow for some time after that. When he does move, he curls in on himself, dragging some blanket across him to cover up with. He feels so horribly cold. Face inexplicably wet, Castiel watches the streetlight outside flicker, then blink out through the small opening in their curtains. It had burned brightly every night since their arrival. Now everything was dark._

_This was not how Castiel had imagined it to be…_

__  
**********  


_The next year passes in a blur for Castiel. After meeting up with Bobby and later the prophet Chuck, they manage to organize a group of survivors and establish a stronghold at a former children’s summer camp known as Camp Chitaqua. It proves to be a perfect location. It’s secluded, but within travel distance to many large metropolises, allowing them to forage for much needed supplies._

_Medical supplies, drugs, hygiene products, canned food, and alcohol seem to be the most sought after. Castiel finds he is quite good at searching out caches of valuable commodities, which makes him a very popular man. For the most part, Castiel remains aloof from the rest of the group. Silently going about his duties and following Dean, who had become their designated leader almost from the beginning._

_The role fits Dean and gives him something to do. It allows him to ignore everything else, burying himself in the demands of survival. It gives him purpose. But at night, an adequate distraction is much harder to come by. Despite the fact that he mostly ignores Castiel throughout the day, most nights find Dean in Castiel’s cabin, taking what he needs and the fallen angel giving it to him without question._

_It’s always much the same as it was their first night together. The start might vary, but it ends up with Castiel on his stomach, always facing away from Dean. He even learns to find some pleasure in the act, eventually looking forward to the late night visits from his charge. It allows him to feel close to Dean again, even if it’s only for a short time. It’s a comfortable, familiar pattern, until one night it all goes horribly wrong._

_It started out so normal. Dean on top, Castiel on bottom, everything exactly the same as it had always been. Castiel holds back his moans as Dean falls into a deliciously punishing stride, having learned long ago that Dean does not want to hear him. It’s not long before Dean is coming inside him, grunting and groaning as he shakes in the aftermath._

_All of this is expected for Castiel. He prepares himself for the inevitable separation, that loss of connection he mourns each and every night. It never comes. Dean leans forward onto Castiel, holding part of his weight as he stretches along the length of Castiel’s body. He rests his head in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder, Dean’s breath sweeping across his sweat-streaked skin._

_A hand travels up his side, following the lines of his body up to his shoulder and down his arm. Castiel’s hand, hidden under his pillow, twitches as Dean’s meets it, fingers intertwining._

“ _Cass,” Dean murmurs, as he places a burning kiss against his shoulder, making his way towards his neck._

_Castiel tries so hard to remain quiet, unsure where this is coming from, but acutely aware that he could ruin it with one false move. When Dean hits the sensitive spot right underneath Castiel’s ear however, all is lost._

“ _Dean…” he moans, fingers tightening around Dean’s._

_There’s a moment when neither one of them breathes, then Dean is gone. He hastily dresses, escaping into the night as fast as humanly possible. Castiel stares after him, nonplussed._

_The next few weeks find Castiel watching as Dean proceeds to hit on every woman within the camp. It’s the old Winchester charm set on overdrive. He watches as his charge takes them to his cabin, has his way with them, and discards them like yesterday’s newspaper. Surprisingly, none of them really seem to mind, even going back for seconds if their supreme leader calls upon them. Castiel minds, however._

_One fateful night finds a small group gathered around a fire. Some are eating. Some are talking. Some are drinking and jockeying for a suitable bed partner for the night, Dean being the ringleader of the latter group. Castiel glares at him from across the fire, consumed with jealousy, feeling betrayed, and generally miserable. He watches Dean debauch the mouth of Alana Talor, a petite blonde in her late twenties._

_So intent is he on burning a hole in Dean’s forehead by simply glowering at it, that he completely misses Lionel Brumer taking a seat next to him. The man is halfway through a very one-sided conversation before Castiel even becomes aware of his presence._

“ _So, what do you think?”_

_Castiel turns to the man and stares at him blankly, “About what?”_

“ _These!” Lionel holds out his hand. Three small yellow pills sit in his palm, the flames of the fire casting shadows over them. It almost looks like they’re dancing, “You want to give it a go? They make everything feel really nice…”_

_Lionel grins at him stupidly as he pushes his hand closer to Castiel. He takes one last look at Dean, who still has his tongue throat deep into Alana. The former angel turns back to Lionel and snatches a pill and downs it. He pockets the other two._

_As it turns out, Lionel was right. Everything does feel so much better. Not long after, Dean heads to his cabin, Alana firmly in tow and Castiel almost doesn’t care. A few hours and a number of pills and drinks later, Castiel stumbles back to his cabin, but he’s not alone. It’s his first time with a woman. He doesn’t know her name and the next day he won’t even remember her face._

_**********_

_It’s two years after Sam said, “yes,” before Lucifer truly re-enters their little world. The Devil had kept himself busy, wreaking havoc across the globe, inflicting almost unbearable amounts of suffering on the remaining pockets of civilization. Cass imagines his demented former brother lets these few humans survive as a way to entertain himself. They are the ants to Lucifer’s kid with a magnifying glass._

_Dean had managed to gloss over the fact that his brother currently housed the bane of mankind’s limited existence. No one knew, with the exception of Cass and Bobby. They had suggested, on numerous occasions that they try to find a way to stop the Devil, but Dean would hear none of it. Even after all this time, he was still unable to stomach the idea of killing Sam._

_It wasn’t clear whether or not Sam Winchester remained in any way cognizant of what was going on. For all Cass knew, his soul had been burned away long ago under the sheer brilliance of Lucifer’s power. It didn’t matter however, since Dean would not even entertain the idea. He refused to talk about it, but discussions were quietly held between Cass and Bobby._

_Bobby wanted to find the Colt. Cass knew, from previous intel, that the Colt was in fact still in existence. It would be almost impossible to find, but there was at least a chance. The simmering mess had come to a boil one night, ending in a knock-down, drag-out argument between Dean and Bobby. Cass, for his part, refused to side against Dean, choosing to remain neutral and instead downed a bottle and a half of whiskey as the two hunters fought. In the end, Bobby left and returned to his home in Sioux Falls. As it turned out, that was a very bad idea._

_They weren’t sure whether Lucifer had sent his cronies out to Bobby’s house because he’d learned the old man was after the Colt or if it was simply a dig at Dean. It wouldn’t be the first time since their initial bout. If Lucifer liked playing with humanity in general, he liked toying with Dean specifically._

_After receiving intel that Bobby was in trouble, Dean and Cass had packed up the Impala and headed out. No longer polished to a shine and rusting in some places, the car had definitely seen much better days. Though Dean still fiddled with it every once in awhile, he did not take the same amount of care with her has he used to. They make good time and soon find themselves making their way up the stairs of the house Dean used to call home._

_Guns at the ready, they enter the slowly crumbling house, moving swiftly through the absolute silence. A quick search of most of the rooms shows there are no demons lying in wait. They find Bobby, slumped in his chair, staring at the gun laying in his lap._

“ _Bobby?” Dean asks, approaching cautiously._

“ _You won’t find any of those black-eyed bastards in the house. They left over an hour ago. I think they knew you were almost here.”_

“ _Why would they just leave?”_

_Bobby turns his wheelchair towards them. Wearily, he lifts his right hand and tugs at the collar of his shirt, pulling it down to reveal a long, blood smeared slash along his chest. Dean stares at it in confusion, but Cass knows what it was immediately._

“ _They infected you,” he says simply, earning a curt nod from the old hunter._

“ _They- Are you talking about Croatoan?” Dean stammers, eyes wide with concern. Maybe even fear. It was the most emotion Cass had seen from him in a long time._

“ _No, we’re talking about the spirit of Christmas. Of course Croatoan, ya idjit.”_

_It’s a valiant front, but Cass can see the barely contained panic in Bobby’s eyes. If the demons had been gone for more than an hour, it wouldn’t be long before he turned._

_Sighing, Bobby’s gaze falls back to the gun. He clears his throat and looks up, “I’m glad you boys came. Saves me the trouble of trying to do this myself.”_

“ _Bobby…”_

_Dean looks like he might be sick. Cass has seen Dean take out countless monsters, both formerly human and of supernatural origin. He’s even watched him put down members of their crew who had become infected during a mission gone wrong. Never in the last two years has he reacted so strongly to the prospect of killing. Despite the ghastly situation, Cass is warmed by the thought that Dean is still capable of some feeling._

“ _You have to boy. I won’t be one of those nightmares. I-I’ll do it on my own if you won’t, but I’m…askin’ you.”_

_Tears threaten to fall from the eyes of the elder hunter as Dean slowly moves forward. He puts a hand on his surrogate father’s shoulder and squeezes as he picks up the gun. Trembling hands draw the gun level as Dean points it at Bobby. Cass watches the old man nod as he closes his eyes. Dean shakes his head, an involuntary denial of what he’s about to do._

_A shot rings out, followed quickly by two more._

_One tear falls from Dean as he and Cass gather up the body. They leave the chair Bobby had hated so much parked in his library, a inadequate memorial to the man. They make the proper preparations and give Bobby the send off a hunter of his caliber deserves. Once they finish, they stand and watch as the fire blazes before them, light gleaming off the surrounding junkers that have been left to rust in peace._

_Cass had never got the hang of crying. It came just as suddenly as it went, the appearance of tears always taking Cass completely by surprise. This time is no different. They streak down his cheeks, unbidden and for the most part unnoticed as he watches the flames. Turning to Dean, Cass expects to see the same coming from his charge._

_He’s disappointed. Only an hour ago, the man next to him had more than shown he still had the capacity to feel. That man had been replaced. Standing next to Cass is an even darker Dean, hard as stone and just as uncaring. Dean stares at the fire without truly seeing it. It’s as though it doesn’t register that a beloved family member is slowly burning to ash right before his eyes._

“ _Come on,” Dean barks suddenly, turning his back on the smoldering pile and heading toward the waiting Impala._

_They make it back to Camp Chitaqua in record time. Cass assumes Dean will pull up next to his abode as usual, but instead he parks the Impala in a field some distance from the nearest cabins. They get out and Dean pops the trunk, removing a crowbar._

_The clank of iron against steel reverberates throughout the night. It seems to fill up the whole world and he’s surprised no one comes out to investigate the sound. He stands on the sidelines, watching as Dean pummels the car, breaking out windows and denting metal. Cass truly believes he has never seen anything quite so horrifying._

_When Dean is finished, he chucks the crowbar away. It lands somewhere in the tall grass, out of sight. The car is a busted up mess. Scratches bleed into newly formed craters. Glass lies everywhere, twinkling with the light of the full moon high above their heads._

_Breathing hard, Dean turns to him, “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch, Cass. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to kill the Devil.”_

_With that, he walks away and Cass can’t help but think that the attempt_  
will  
 _be the last thing Dean Winchester ever does. After that, they never speak of Bobby Singer again._

__  
**********  


Cass snaps himself back to the present. It will not due to dwell on such things. It never leads him anywhere good. Besides, it’d be a horrible waste of the lovely haze he feels himself slowly sinking into. The edges of the world blur, making him feel just the slightest bit warmer. He decides that the only proper course of action would be to help speed the process along.

He stands stiffly, his borrowed body protesting. After all the abuse he has inflicted on it, Cass is sometimes shocked it hasn’t started a full-blown riot against him. Ignoring the creaks and pops, he stumbles slightly forward. Since tomorrow will find them hunting Lucifer and it will more than likely end in their very bloody deaths, he goes in search of the hidden stash he keeps out back behind his cabin. Cass is still a pro at finding the “good stuff” and has always made it a point to hold back some of his better finds for just such an occasion.

Moving around to the back of the shack, Cass crouches down. He feels along the foundation, finding the piece of wood that he knows pops off. It’s only a matter of seconds before he has a heavy bottle of something clear in his hand. Grinning, he replaces the cover and stands.

It’s probably not as surprising as it should be to him when one minute he’s standing there inspecting his contraband and the next the bottle lies smashed on the ground as he’s slammed up face first against the wood wall. He tries to push back, but he’s pinned.

Cass imagines most normal people would be asking questions like, “Who are you?” or “What do you think you’re doing?” In Cass’ topsy-tervy, fucked up little world however, he already knows both the answers.

“What the hell did you think you were doing in there, Cass?” Dean asks, his voice low and dangerous. His face inches away from Cass’.

The ex-angel can smell alcohol on his breath, but is surprised to find that it’s not that bad. Dean is decidedly not drunk, which makes this situation all the more delicate. Too bad Cass is a few too many sheets to the wind to give a damn.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific, Dean.”

He pushes Cass against the wall again, “Questioning my orders. My plans. You haven’t done that since…”

Dean trails off, apparently unable to remember the last time Cass had stood up to him. The fallen angel can’t really blame him. It had been a very long time.

“Am I not allowed to voice an opinion?”

“You only did it because  _he’s_  here,” Dean growls, lips close to Cass’ ear, “You like him.”

“He’s  _you_ ,” Cass pauses as something clicks in his admittedly muddled brain, “You had ulterior motives for sending Chuck to retrieve Dean.”

It wasn’t a question, but his Dean answers anyway, “The bastard has his own angel in his own time.”

A normal person would probably protest Dean’s claims of ownership on Cass’ person, but frankly Cass has never been normal. Hell, he’s only technically been a person in the human sense of the word for just over five years. To Cass, Dean’s possessiveness is as close to a declaration of love as he’ll ever get.

He feels Dean’s hands travel up and down his sides, slipping under his blue prayer shirt. Nails lightly rake across his skin as Dean pushes harder against him, keeping Cass pinned against the wall. Suddenly, the hands disappear. Cass hears the distinct sound of a zipper being undone. While it has been awhile, he still knows that’s his cue.

Allowed only enough room to turn, Cass immediately drops to his knees. He pulls Dean’s jeans down, giving him better access as he wastes no time going down on him. Cass licks and sucks, teasing the head of Dean’s dick with his tongue as he twists up and down. Dean looms over him, one hand resting against the cabin’s wall as the other tangles in Cass’ hair.

Cass speeds up, alternating between gripping Dean’s ass and playing with his balls. It’s not long before he feels an insistent tug upwards, his signal to stop. Cass goes down once more, swallowing him whole and eliciting a moan from Dean, before releasing him. He stands, resuming his original position, arms braced on the wall above his head. Dean unbuttons Cass’ pants and drags them down, spreading his legs apart as he leans in against him once again.

Dean buries himself in Cass without preamble. It hurts, but frankly Cass is pretty far gone and could give a fuck. Hands firmly on his hips as his chest rests against Cass’ back, Dean rocks into him, slower than the bruising pace he normally sets. Even so, Cass’ left cheek grates harshly against the wood of the cabin with each thrust.

Grunting, Dean speeds up, holding tighter to the fallen angel. Letting one arm slip down, Cass grabs his own dick, jacking himself off in time with Dean. It’s a well-choreographed dance. It’s one they’ve practiced over and over again, though only sporadically since the night Cass fucked everything up. They come almost at the same time, so in sync in their dysfunction.

They stand there, gasping for air. Dean rests against him, as the cool night air breezes by ghosting across their sweat soaked bodies. Cass feels Dean gliding his fingers up and down his arm, coming dangerously close to Cass’ hand. He tenses and Dean must feel it because he stops, hand resting on Cass’ forearm.

“Cass?”

He hears the question. He knows he’s expected to answer. But, Cass has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to be doing here. He feels Dean trying to turn him around, but he fights. Cass isn’t sure what the hunter is up to, but he’s fairly certain that facing Dean is a bad idea.

“Cass, come on.”

Of course he turns. At first he refuses to look up, but Dean waits him out just like he did so long ago in the “beautiful room” the night Sam killed Lilith. Before the Apocalypse had even truly begun.

“Do you hate me?”

It’s not what Cass expects to come from Dean’s mouth, but the answer is easy enough, “No.”

“You should.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause. Cass feels as though they’re standing on the edge of something. Dean takes a breath, eyes never leaving Cass’.

“Cass, I-” Dean stops, panic slowly rising in his eyes. Cass is almost afraid to blink for fear that Dean will bolt, “I…”

“Say it, Dean,” Cass murmurs brokenly, “I need you to say it. Please. ”

Dean lets out a sigh, resting his forehead against Cass’ as he shuts his eyes. Cass leans into the touch. It’s one of the more intimate gestures they’ve ever shared, but it’s not enough. Not when Dean was going to say…

Nothing. Dean tears himself away from Cass, readjusting his clothes as he turns to walk away.

“Dean, don’t…” Cass manages to choke out.

He sees Dean hesitate. For a brief moment, Cass even thinks Dean is turning back towards him. Instead, he disappears around the side of the cabin, leaving Cass completely alone with his pants still down around his ankles.

Sobs rack Cass and for the first time he doesn’t wonder where they came from. The grief sends him crashing to the ground, his hand sliding in the broken glass of the long forgotten bottle of alcohol. It cuts a long gash in his hand, but Cass doesn’t notice. He shakes from the sheer magnitude of his misery. He folds his arms tightly, an unconscious attempt to physically hold himself together as he flies a part.

So lost is he, that Cass fails to notice the unmistakeable sound of fluttering wings. He doesn’t recognize the small hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as a warning that something is nearby. In the middle of his breakdown, Cass falls unconscious. His last thoughts do not question why he tumbles so suddenly into oblivion, as perhaps they should. No, Cass’ last waking thought, like so many of the others, are of his Dean.  


End file.
